Adaptations
by quantumsilver
Summary: Because I'm dark, okay? Get off my back.


I don't even know. But I know it's part V of at least IX. That's all I know.

Also don't. Just don't if you aren't twisted and deranged and don't like dark things.

Also I apologize for myself. But I do not apologize for my darkness.

Also I'm sorry. This is going to be way worse and less literary than it should be, I'm thinking. And I actually blame KatLady so take this up with her. I'm innocent of all charges.

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**PART V**

* * *

Command isn't what most ensigns think.

Aelgron's vile breath puffs at her neck. Janeway's hanging body spasms to life, every muscle resenting the stimulation and reminder of sentience.

She can see Chakotay, bloody and unconscious from hours of "reasoning" just beyond the spotlights highlighting her quickening pulse. He passed out quickly. Likely due to Aelgron's focus on him as an immediate target for interrogation.

It's not the first time an adversary has taken this tactic with her. She's been training at this scenario for decades. It's not Aelgron's fault he's unaware of her experience, the numbness she can conjure as his broad teeth skim the horizontal length of her bare shoulder.

He thinks he's intimidating her. In fact he's boring her. If he wanted them dead, they would be. If he wanted his bargaining chip, Chakotay, maimed or destroyed beyond repair, he would be. She knows to let Aelgron believe this fallacy as long as possible increases their chances of imminent rescue without non-reversible harm.

Most ensigns probably think this is easy. It should probably be harder than it is, in reality.

"Captain…"

He's practically singing her title, close as his thick wide lips are to her bloody ear.

"Caaaaap-taaaaaaain," he repeats, obviously under the delusion that she wasn't at full alert the moment she regained consciousness.

It pisses her off. So much so that she snaps at him, steering the age-old game to a halting turning point well before she should.

"Just do what you're going to do, Aelgron. It's not as if I can stop you. We've established that, haven't we?"

He'll hit her now, probably with too much force to preserve her physical appeal. It'll give her satisfaction and time to find and exploit his weaknesses while he decides whether or not to fix her broken face or proceed with his intended actions. She's ready for it; her body is trained not to even tense for it.

The blow is not forthcoming. That's what pisses her off most.

She wakens that slight additional bit, recalculates Voyager's likely arrival using estimated time about her lack of awareness after Aelgron's last bit of terrible chemistry and alien veins – veins belonging to her, terrible chemistry belonging to him. He clearly meant to either unravel her control or cause her unbearable pain. She remembers the impulse to hand him Kashyk's card to help in either regard, but not the reason she eventually lost consciousness.

Either way, his lack of confidence and continued attention are proof that his interrogation techniques are child's play. No different than what she assessed at their abrupt and stilted initial meeting.

The migraine has come right on time, fifteen hours after leaving the shuttle and all the caffeine-containing substances a Starfleet replicator can provide. She thinks better with a migraine and damn any holographic excuse for a physician who routinely scoffs at this proven assertion.

"Oh, Captain. You surprise me more and more. You really are a rare delight."

It's an uncommon compliment. Maybe. His sticky hand trails through her tangled hair, stroking and catching. He doesn't appear to notice her stiffening yet she knows he's hyperaware of it anyway and taking far too much enjoyment from her distaste. She'll die a thousand deaths before she'll react and give him the pleasure of confirming it.

"Tell me now, tiny kitten… I have you. I have the means to manipulate your every decision and action because I have two of your people. And you've already demonstrated just what you will do to keep them largely intact."

Reasoning. Bargaining. Yes. The standard acts of any reasonable person held in restraints and responsible for other beings held in similar cruel fashion. She has done all of these things as prescribed of a Starfleet commander captured by hostile forces along with subordinates. Aelgron's response to her reasoning has yet to impress her in any way despite what he's probably telling himself.

She's tired. It's been a long six years. Voyager doesn't run itself and this fool of a Delta Quadrant alien has shown zero originality, exactly no gravitas since he managed to catch them fleeing a local shuttle wreckage in spite of any so-called technological or intellectual talents displayed thus far.

Janeway's practiced diplomacy cracks. She just can't. Not here, not now, not with Aelgron and not today.

"Tell you what?" she barks. It may be more of a croak but dehydration isn't her fault it's his. Again, it's so standard it's barely worth her notice but he's so far beneath her attention as a captor the notice is gone from her thoughts as soon as it enters. Her voice strengthens with use. It always does. "If there was a question somewhere in that self-effacing monologue, I'm afraid I missed it."

He hits her now. She can already feel her neck screaming at the reverberation from the force of his meaty fist making contact with her jaw. Her eye. Her temple. Her stomach. Aelgron is nothing but a formed representation of every bully she's ever encountered. It's he who should be cowering. She sure as hell is not. Especially with his attention so thoroughly focused on her.

A moment passes. The pain does not manifest. Her jaw doesn't rock, her belly doesn't firm from assaulting pressure, hell her neck doesn't even scream from a glancing, ill-placed blow to her cheek.

It's the first time since capture that Kathryn Janeway's focus really forms on their captor. Aelgron is grinning. His brutish, tawny, broad-toothed face is in her field of vision. Those meaty fists are sliding down her clavicles. She's only truly awake when they rest lightly over her chest.

He grins at her as he patiently fondles her breasts. "Very good, very good, Kathryn. Give me nothing. No indication of weakness or fear. I'm proud of you."

"Fuck her, Executor!"

She'd frown if it wasn't strictly contraindicated. She hasn't heard a word of the taunting of his officers since the female third in command suggested – what she suggested and Chakotay reacted according to script, and these alien bastards burned the hair from his chest, legs and groin until he passed out, leaving the scent of scorched human flesh lingering in the recycled air.

Aelgron notices her renewed awareness. She sees him notice her noticing. His broadening grin actually turns her stomach. This alone summons something akin to fear. And Kathryn Janeway hasn't quite catalogued experiencing fear in…well…years. It's disconcerting and she hates it.

_Don't threaten me, Captain, I've faced far more intimidating prey than you. _

Learning how far the Hirogen leader had gone during his simulations to learn from human responses still sits unwell within her. She can admit that, to herself if not to Chakotay or the doctor. Aelgron is child's play compared to Hirogen. If he wants to compare himself to Cardassians she's game.

Aelgron, however, is quite inconsiderate. He affords no time for reflection about past and present captivity as he continues.

"My question is this, Captain. Why in eight universes would I settle for taking something I can make you give to me?"

Aelgron nods curtly to something or someone out of sight just to the left. Harry is dragged into the room of horrors. He's naked. Bruised. The gentle unconscious haze she's been banking on him experiencing these past hours evaporates with at least one practiced layer of security in her assessment of today's alien of the week.

Across the room, Chakotay coughs, stirring.

_Damn_ him. She'd calculated him as passed out for at least another 12 hours after what these bastard OLjar have done to him while trying to get any rise or useful information out of her.

Aelgrons fingers tighten over her breasts, long thick multi-jointed digits crushing at delicate tips. Thethin Starfleet tank affords zero protection against this action. She can't help but react vocally to his manipulation. Chakotay's dark eyes flutter, then open in perfect time to witness it.

Fucking Aelgron. He did that on _fucking_ purpose. She knows that now.

Aelgron's red eyes meet hers, daring her to ignore his personal attentions and all but outright stated threats. "Go on, Captain," he coaxes. "I believe you were continuing to profile me as no threat? Please. By all means. Continue."


End file.
